The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London Book 3)

by Adele Clee

  “Duncan turned around and came straight back.” Possessed with such a deep voice, Mackenzie struggled to whisper. “He examined the boat and scoured the cove but found no sign of the stranger.”

  “Was it Doyle?” Fabian spoke in a low, hushed tone.

  “Duncan said not.”

  “What about Trevane?”

  Mackenzie shrugged.

  “A treasure hunter?”

  “He had no tools.”

  “Move the boat. Post men at the dock. Whoever he is, leave him no means of escape.” Fabian cast her a sidelong glance. His expression darkened. “Keep the gates closed, and the doors locked until we’ve established who he is and what he wants here.”

  “Aye, my lord. I’ll see to it at once.” Mackenzie gave a curt nod and marched away.

  Fabian forced a smile as he returned to her side. “Perhaps we should retire for the evening. You may rest in your chamber, but should you leave the room I must insist that you inform me of your whereabouts.”

  Lillian snorted. “What happened to me wearing breeches and letting my hair blow freely in the wind?”

  “It is merely a precaution.”

  “Why, because you fear Vane has come to take me home?”

  The muscle in his jaw flexed as if warming up for a battle. “This is your home now. Vane will have to kill me before I’ll let him take you anywhere.”

  Stunned, Lillian jerked her head back. Her shock had nothing to do with his comment but more her reaction to it. Rather than repel her, the possessiveness in his tone touched her heart. How was that possible? She’d married Fabian hoping to break free from the controlling attitude of society and men. But it wasn’t just that. An icy shiver raced through her body as she imagined Fabian collapsing to the ground, blood oozing from a wound to his chest.

  “Vane won’t kill you.” The steely thread of determination in her voice sounded convincing. “He shot Lord Martin for dishonouring me.”

  “Am I any different?”

  If Fabian knew the truth, he would not dare compare himself to that blackguard. “That is hardly a question a man asks his wife on their wedding day. Besides, Vane has no desire to see me in widow’s weeds.” She sucked in a breath, pained by the thought of losing this irritating man even though he cared nothing for her.

  Fabian remained silent although his pursed lips suggested he had more to say on the subject of Vane.

  Lillian straightened. “If we are to muddle through this mess, as you suggested, we cannot keep secrets.” Heavens above, was she not the worst kind of hypocrite? “You spoke of another man, Doyle. Do you fear he is the one who arrived by boat?”

  “Let us be clear about one thing. I fear no man — not Vane, and certainly not Doyle.” His gaze swept over her. “But Doyle is unpredictable. He uses underhanded techniques to make his point. Hence, my concern for your safety and that of my men.”

  “You needn’t worry about me.” The annoying butterfly in her stomach fluttered about again, seeming to like it when he made a fuss. “If you give me what I asked for then I am more than capable of protecting myself.”

  “You speak of a sword and pistols?” Amusement flashed in his eyes. “What if Doyle drugs your drink and lures you away under false pretences? What will you do then?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever it takes to escape. Consequently, I have another request to make. I want a blade and sheath. Something small, easily concealed, perhaps with a strap and buckle.”

  Fabian arched a brow. “You certainly know how to pique a man’s interest.” His gaze dropped to her bodice and then meandered all the way down to her toes. “For now, I shall grant your request. But at some point in the future, when you feel able, you will tell me what happened to you.”

  Panic flared. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He closed the gap between them and his dark eyes fixed firmly on her. “Oh, you do. A lady does not demand weapons unless she fears for her life. You know I would never hurt you. But someone has.”

  The conversation brought painful memories flooding back. Things that had no place in her mind on such a special day as this. “Let’s just say” — she stopped abruptly and swallowed to lubricate her dry throat — “you’re not the only man who has used me to hurt Vane.”

  The blood drained from his face, leaving him deathly pale. “The difference is I shall spend the rest of my life making amends. I intend to ensure you find happiness here.”

  If only he’d added with me.

  A chill shivered through her, but she pushed his coat off her shoulders and handed the garment back to him. “Let’s go inside. There must be plenty of weapons here. A man doesn’t sail the seas without an armoury.” The chest of swords on the ship told her as much. “Should Doyle attempt anything foolish, it would help to know what he looks like and what his motive is for wanting to cause you harm.”

  Fabian shrugged into his coat. The material bulged around the muscles in his arms, and her traitorous fingers itched to explore the contours. “Doyle is a large man with jowls rather than a jawline and hands the size of mallets.”

  “Does he by any chance have access to a black carriage and have cheeks pitted with scars?” Since arriving at the castle, she’d not seen the pock-faced man. One did not forget a face like that, particularly not one sporting a menacing grin.

  Fabian frowned. “No, but Doyle may have a scar above his right eye where I punched him so hard it split the skin.”

  “So Doyle is not the pock-faced man?”

  “A few men here suffer from skin conditions. It's a common complaint when one spends so much time at sea. None of them accompanied Mackenzie to London.” He paused. “Perhaps the effects of the laudanum played tricks with your memory. Did you notice someone at Vauxhall with a similar affliction?”

  Her fractured memories were impossible to piece together. But she’d seen the man days before her excursion to the Pleasure Gardens. “The man with the scars sat atop an unmarked carriage. I watched him circle Berkeley Square. I looked directly into his cold eyes when he stopped outside my window.” She shook her head and muttered to herself as she revisited the scene. “But when I asked Mackenzie, he confirmed he was the one who stopped outside my window.”

  Perhaps sensing her disquiet, Fabian captured her hand. “I’ll speak to Mackenzie, but he assures me they met with no one in London. Perhaps it has nothing to do with you, and someone is interested in monitoring your brother’s movements.”

  Logically that made sense. “You might be right.” Ladies often boasted of an affair with Vane to make their husbands jealous. Still, the heavy weight in her chest and the ache in her throat suggested otherwise.

  Fabian placed her hand in the crook of his arm and led her inside. “Doyle worked on The Octavia.”

  “The ship captained by Mr Hill?”

  “Yes.” He seemed surprised she knew. “One of my competitors paid Doyle to spoil the cargo. I think he hoped to ruin my reputation so other merchants thought twice about hiring us to transport their goods.”

  “A ruined reputation can wreak untold damage.” She knew that better than most.

  “The fool almost sank the ship and killed us all.”

  “No wonder you punched him.” They passed the door leading to the great hall, and she suddenly remembered her flowers. “Would you mind if I collect my posy? I left it on the table during the feast.” If she hoped to preserve the pretty heads she needed to press them before they wilted.

  “Not at all.”

  Lillian hurried into the great hall expecting the room to be as they had left it. But the place was cold now, quiet, the tables empty, the floor clear of any debris. Those few hours spent in celebration were amongst the happiest of her life. How strange she should feel that way? Sentiment had no place in what was essentially a business contract. Still, she liked Fabian — she always had.

  She found her flowers on the long table, sitting in a tankard of water, and so shook away the droplets clinging to the stems. Her gaze drifted to
the throne chairs, to the place she’d first kissed her husband. A chuckle escaped her lips when she thought of all the times she’d dreamed of kissing Fabian Darcy. Of course, she’d imagined sweet nips and chaste pecks, not the hot sinful way he’d devoured her mouth.

  It seemed the man did everything with mastery and skill. Was that part of his appeal? A vision of his muscular arms and well-defined chest flashed into her mind. Would he approach their lovemaking in the same way? She snorted. Lovemaking? Just like her experience with Lord Martin, love played no part.

  Her stomach roiled when the memory of her ruination flooded her mind. How had she been so foolish? How had she been so blind?

  Darkness descended like a black choking fog. In an instant, she saw Lord Martin’s kind face, saw the mask slip to reveal the monster hidden beneath. Never had she met a man so cold, so heartless. One so skilled in the art of deception.

  “What’s the delay?” Fabian’s rich voice drifted over her, banishing her nightmare. “If you’re looking for wine to bolster your courage I can have a bottle sent to your chamber?”

  She clutched the posy, pasted a smile and swung around to face him. “And pray tell me why I would need courage?”

  Fabian folded his arms across his chest and gave a devilish grin. “Is this not our wedding day? Are there not certain matters that require our attention?”

  He held the same boyish charm she’d seen in their youth, and Lillian drank in the sight like a woman parched.

  A nervous flutter in her throat forced her to swallow. “While I’m obliged to do my duty—”

  “Duty?” he mocked. “Trust me, love, it will be no hardship.”

  Her cheeks flushed hotly under the heat of his stare. But, despite the vow she’d made, she was not ready to bare herself body and soul. “Men think differently about such matters. You must give me more time.”

  Fabian stepped back and gestured to the corridor. “Let us continue this discussion upstairs. There’s something I want to give you.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. Never had she seen a more handsome man. “Don’t look so frightened. I have a wedding present for you … something that should sit nicely in your warm palm.”

  Lillian arched a brow.

  “Have no fear, I shall keep my clothes on when I give it to you.” He pushed his hand through his mop of ebony hair. “Why is it that whatever I say sounds highly inappropriate?”

  She laughed then. “I think it has something to do with your husky tone.”

  “Can I help it if I find the prospect of bedding my wife appealing?”

  How her shaking limbs supported her weight, she’d never know. “Come,” she said as she walked past him and out into the corridor, “I’m keen to see my gift.”

  “Let’s hope it’s not too thick for your dainty fingers to grasp.”

  Oh, the man was incorrigible.

  Once upstairs, he entered his chamber. Lillian hovered outside.

  “You can come in.” Fabian sounded highly amused. “And I suggest you close the door. We wouldn’t want anyone to catch us in the act.”

  “Know that your efforts to tease me are in vain.” She stepped into the inherently masculine space.

  Rich oak panels lined the walls of his bedchamber. Curtains of forest-green velvet hung from the poster bed. The room reflected the dark, sensual character of its master. The pile of books on the side table spoke of the younger man who believed knowledge was power, the key to all of life’s conundrums.

  He strode to the bed, and with his back to her fiddled with a wooden box. Lillian took a moment to close her eyes and inhale the aroma. Fabian's essence permeated the room. It was a different smell than she remembered. Notes of frankincense and sandalwood mingled with the fresh salty scent of the sea. The natural yet exotic fragrance spoke of maturity and mystery as opposed to youth.

  “Keep your eyes closed and hold out your hand,” he said. “See how it feels when you wrap your fingers around this beauty.”

  She obliged him, gasped at the sudden weight in her palm.

  Fabian’s hand supported hers. “Is it not smooth and hard at the same time?”

  “You speak of the wood.” Lillian opened her eyes and glanced at the pistol.

  “It’s French but should serve you well while I arrange for a replacement.”

  Lillian examined the barrel, hammer and frisson. She squeezed her right eye shut and aimed at the window.

  “You have a steady hand.” Fabian stepped aside. “I trust you know how to load and fire the weapon?”

  “Of course.” She offered a confident grin. “My brother never shirks his responsibilities.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  She ignored his quip. Until he had a frank conversation with Vane, he would always believe his own version of events. “Is the pistol one of a pair?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “May I see the box?”

  “Certainly.” He gestured to the bed. “Sit down if you wish. As you’ll be sleeping with me tonight, I suggest you make yourself comfortable.”

  Lillian tutted. Why would she sleep with him when she had her own chamber? “Must we go over this again?”

  He stepped closer and placed his hand on her upper arm. “A stranger has come ashore. Lord knows how many men seek satisfaction for your brother's misdeeds. Lord knows, there are plenty of men keen to see me fail, too.”

  “One thing is certain. If Vane were here, he’d be hammering the gates demanding entrance.”

  Fabian sighed. “I agree. If it’s Doyle, I suspect he’ll cling to the walls like a limpet hoping to remain undetected.” He glanced at the large bed. “You’ll sleep here tonight, where I know you’re safe.”

  Something in his tone suggested she should heed his words. “You say sleep but are you certain that’s what you mean?”

  He caressed her upper arm, the gesture more protective than a prelude to seduction. “You may wear your nightgown and bring your pistol, though I’d rather not wake in the night to feel something hard and solid pressing into my back.”

  She didn’t have a nightgown, only her chemise. “A wall of pillows will prevent any misunderstanding. We shall keep to our own side.”

  Fabian’s hand slipped from her arm. “Are we to sleep like enemies, too? Are we to remain on opposite ends of the battlefield with our defences raised?”

  “For the time being.”

  He shook his head. “Then allow me to give you some space to grow accustomed to your surroundings. If you have no objection, I shall accompany Mackenzie on a tour of the area. All I ask is that you stay in this room until I return.”

  “Of course. Only a lady promised freedom might think she had the right to wander.”

  “You shall have your freedom, my lady. Ask anyone here. The Raven never goes back on his word.” With that, Fabian inclined his head. “Will you wait up for me?”

  “Do I have a choice? Or are you inclined to make more demands?”

  A mischievous grin formed on his lips. “Were I so inclined, I’d seek more than just your company.”

  She wanted to offer a witty retort, but the heated look in his eyes stole her breath. “I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep.”

  “I can’t promise I won’t try to wake you.”

  They stared at each other, neither blinked. It became a battle of wills as to who would look away first. With his eyes still fixed on her, he stepped forward. Lillian swallowed. He bent his head until he was so close their breath mingled in the air between them. “Will you miss me when I’m gone?”

  Good Lord, the man was a pirate, with an ability to avoid detection and steal away her soul. To protect her poor battered heart, she had no choice but to sever the connection.

  “Mackenzie must be waiting,” she said, stepping back.

  “Then I shall bid you good night — for now.”

  “Good night, Fabian.” She turned away and strode over to the window. When the door clicked shut, she wrapped her arms across her chest and releas
ed a weary sigh. Being in his company proved tiring as she struggled to fight the obsession she’d held for as long as she could remember.

  She opened the arched window that gave a perfect view of the landscape and inhaled the fresh sea air. She must have waited ten minutes before she saw Fabian ride out with Mackenzie at his side. They galloped across the heathland, out of view. A sudden frisson of fear made her shudder. Vane was not a man who skulked in the shadows. Had her brother been aboard the rowboat he would have raced to the castle gates in his hunt to find and punish Fabian.

  So that left Doyle. But why would a traitor return to the fold knowing he would receive a hostile reception? What motive could he possibly have other than a desire for vengeance?

  Chapter Nine

  It was dark when Fabian and Mackenzie returned to the castle. The cold light of the moon illuminated their way. As did the amber flames in the braziers scattered around the bailey. The weather had hindered their search, the relentless downpour lasting for more than an hour. Fat droplets of rain had pelted their cheeks and clung to their lashes making it impossible to see anything more than a few feet ahead.

  “Lord, can you credit our luck?” Mackenzie dismounted and thrust his hand through hair more frizzy now than straight. “Only when we return home do the clouds depart to destinations new.”

  Fabian swung down to the ground. “Well, at least we know the blackguard’s not hiding in the cottages.”

  “Aye, I suppose we should count our blessings as it gave me an opportunity to question Mary.”

  “Did you mention the missing food?”

  “Och, the woman’s terrified to leave the house for fear someone will blame her for what happened with Doyle.”

  “And he’s not stolen ashore to visit her since we cast him out?”

  “She says not, and I believe her. I cannot help but feel sorry for the woman.” That came as no surprise. Mackenzie felt sorry for everyone. “From where I stand we’ve two choices. We can suggest she goes to stay with her sister in Truro.”